Cast Away
by niniadepapa
Summary: Calypso, fated to be alone. Immortal, ageless, beautiful - yet always alone. A Captain on his quest for revenge who finds himself stranded on Ogygia.
1. Chapter 1

**_Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters or Once Upon A Time - the trolls Edward Kitsis and Adam Horowitz do. If I did, I'd make them canon faster than lighting._**

**_PS.: this is an AU work, therefore, as much as I love, cherish and venerate Greek mythology - details and some myths have been modified for this story's sake. Please bear with me. _**

* * *

She stared at the sea.

Every morning, every dawn, every day she spent on that island, she abandoned the soft linen sheets, her silent, bare feet bringing her to the shore, like a pale ghost bathed in gold, and she lifted her gaze to the horizon.

When she had been just a girl, long ago, too long ago, she had marveled at the immensity of Poseidon's domain: the rage and the power behind the storms, the constant flow that never stopped in its depths, the living creatures that found home in the darkest abysses and most enchanting corners, full of coral and green and silver and gold in the expanse of underwater.

She had felt free whenever she had been close to the water, when her sisters and she had played, splashing each other in between shrieks and teasing squeals as siblings usually did.

She had felt _happy_.

Oh, the irony.

Now, the very same oceans she had so loved during her childhood were the bars in her cage, keeping her prisoner, held in the middle of nowhere, her cries and pleas to leave constantly ignored. No amount of begging or apologizing would deter the Olympians after they had banished the young goddess to Ogygia, her current home.

The home she had never asked for. The home she abhorred with as much spite as one could, the venom she would never had believed she could bottle up in her spilling out in waves, waves like the ones crashing on the shore surrounding the island. Her island. Her home.

Cruel folk, the Olympians. When they saw it fit to punish anyone - mortal or God, mermaid or nymph, king or shepherd, nereid or satyr; no matter who, - they always made sure to find the penance especially devised for the victim. They were twisted, sad, cruel fates; those reserved to the ones who dared to go against their wishes, as Sisyphus, Tantalus or Prometheus had learnt the hard way.

Calypso had been the wiser of their wraith and resentment too. Long ago, too long ago - just when she had left her childhood behind, when naivety still kept a hold of her mind and her heart, her body experimenting the changes from child to woman, the eyes of men and Gods wandering none-so-subtly towards her lithe form and silky skin - she had fallen.

She had fallen for him.

A son of kings, a son fated to be her undoing.

Her heart had spoken, her feelings hushing the voice inside of her pleading for her to reason, to see, to _look_. To unveil the lies that he had fed her, the promises whispered in between kisses and languid embraces, passionate encounters being their haven, their place to oath each other their eternal love.

The place to trap her, to lure her to follow some of his schemes, a plan to go against the Gods' ever-unwavering commands. Calypso, young as she had been, always the dutiful and obedient child, had not been too keen at first, wary and scared of the repercussions the both of them would have to face if fate got in the way and his methodically measured plan dissolved to pieces - but he had swept away her fears with caresses, sweet vows and soft kisses. Her trust had poured out of her very soul, wielding him, a cloak he had gladly worn and made use of in order to achieve his goal.

Until, as she had feared, Fortune, fickle as she was, had intervened.

He had fled, nowhere to be seen or found. Sometimes, she wondered if the corner of the world he might be hiding in would be so far away that it made it impossible for him to listen to her desperate cries for help, the tears she had shed when she had been taken and judged for treason, the pain she had endured, the shame she had felt when the Olympians - her family, her siblings, - had seen it fair to settle the penance supposed to be carried by the mastermind behind the betrayal on her shoulders instead.

A soul must be punished. A body must bear the pain. A mind must pay.

Calypso had been paying for that mistake since then, the coin for such payment burning against her palm: isolation.

They had banished her to this island, a charming paradise cloaked and hidden from civilization. Upon her arrival, she had been shocked to discover her prison to-be was faraway from what she had expected - maybe a dingy cell, covered in dirt and moss, stains in the walls trapping her and nauseous odors suffocating the air she would breathe in for as long as she stayed. Maybe eternity, as the immortal blood coursing through her veins promised with a bitter smile._ You chose this. You chose him. You have to face the consequences now._

Oh, how wrong she had been about the place the Olympians would cast her out to.

There was no dirt in Ogygia. No monsters. No fear, no tension. No danger, no beasts, no bones or flesh threatened to be lashed at or bitten. No hurt.

No physical hurt, that was.

An overwhelming feeling of peace had settled over her when she first set foot on the sandy beach that welcomed her, and she came to realize not long later that was the norm whereupon reaching Ogygia's shores. Everything enchanted the foreigner: the sweet scent of flowers and the ocean breeze, the vines wrapping around a natural cave blanketed with such vibrant green foliage their eyes might sting when staring directly at them. Water spouted out of fountains into streams, where birds sang and rested and other animals dozed off or grazed, mild beasts willingly prancing around and not afraid of interacting with humans.

A place filled with beauty and passion.

That was Calypso's lair.

That is Calypso's lair.

That would always be Calypso's lair.

And no one but her would be the wiser, the very marvels and enchantments of the island for her eyes only. Some may say her penance was meek in contrast to others imposed on other men that had been faced against the Olympian's fury. Some may say she had been lucky, too lucky. She got to spend the rest of her immortal days in an island of wonder, surrounded by beauty and peace. A paradise maybe closer to the Elysian Fields than one would had dreamed of.

Calypso would have faced foul creatures, unbearable pain, and excruciatingly hard tasks. The bruises, the blood and the sweat pouring from her flesh, _anything_, she would cope with it all if it had meant she would not be alone.

And yet, the young golden goddess only found herself surrounded by company when, every few eons, some hero was washed up on her shore, fallen from the sky, just like Icarus had. Every time, her heart would flutter, her very soul growing wings at the thought that this time, _maybe_ this time, they would stay, choose to stay, choose _her_. Had she not everything they would ever wish for in her island? Was she not an immortal Goddess, an ethereal vision for any mortal, who would share that same fate by her side if they wished so?

Even if she had yearned for them to do so - even if they wanted to, the curse bestowed upon her condemned her to stay alone. Always alone. And with eyes full of regret, they left, back to their homes, their freedom. Away from her.

Delphos, Olympians, Apollo himself - her destiny was sealed.

Loneliness would be her only ally, her only company.

So she stared. Stared at the waves, their dance entrancing her as a lonely tear fell from the smooth, pale skin of her cheek to join the salty ocean waters, slipping away from her, just like everybody else.

* * *

He stared at the sea.

The realm his father reigned over. His home, where he had always felt at ease, light of heart, happy.

Killian had not learned of his father's identity until was a young lad, when his mother had taken him and sat him down by her side to explain about the connection he had always felt with the ocean breeze, the salty water, his very own call of the sirens in the blue depths of the sea. They were all a sign of his Olympian parentage, she had told him: his heart pumped the blood of the God of the seas, horses and earthquakes. He remembered how she had laid her hand over his chest, the rough calloused skin from journey after journey spent working her fingers to the bone only bringing him calm and respect for the woman who had meant more for him than anybody else in his entire, miserable life.

Until her.

_Milah_.

After his mother's passing, he had taken to the ocean, not too sorry for leaving the small hut he had shared with her behind. He had spent his childhood there, fond memories of lazy afternoons lounging on the sand and singing old sea shanties flooding his mind as he stepped aboard a ship after making a deal with the captain. The place he had lived for as long as he could remember with his family, - the only family he had ever had and had seemed like cared about him at all, - was now a mere building, four cracked walls, decrepit and falling down, the feeling of warmth, welcoming and kindness that had always ignited inside him at its sight now long gone. Killian had known then that he would find his way home, his own place in the world.

And he had. He had found his refuge there, where it had always been, waiting with open arms for him to hold on and never let go. The ocean. The tides guiding his days, the stars his roof, the sound of the waves rocking against the ship replacing the lullabies he had fallen asleep to when he was a child.

He had never looked back.

It had not come as such a surprise when he became the youngest captain to sail the Egeus and beyond. As his sailors hushed between themselves when they were under the impression that he was not paying attention, 'he speaks to the sea like an old friend, and the sea listens to him in return'.

They were not wrong. Even if Poseidon would not appear out of thin air and make himself known before him claiming his role as a parental figure, - not that Killian, nor any other offspring from Olympians and mortals had ever expected anything along those lines, - Killian had always known he was there, out there, down below, his home in the blue, dark abyss out of Killian's reach yet where from he was sure he was being watched over.

It may had been wishful thinking. It may have been the lonely heart of an orphan desperately yearning for the warm hand of a father over his shoulder, guiding him in his course of the waves in search of adventure.

He had never longed so much and so desperately for fatherly advice in his life than when he first fell in love. Crashing down, breath knocked out of his lungs, heart lodged in his throat as she sat across from him and smiled.

_Milah_.

How must have the Fates cackled at the idea of having the young, reckless and brave captain fall for a taken woman. He had never been in search for love, never had sought it, never had wondered if he had ever been missing out for not sharing his life, his heart, his soul with someone. Until her.

Killian had taken Milah on the adventure she had always longed for, had offered her the world. The horizon was theirs; with her by his side, he was sated - he was done. He would have never dreamed of how what they had left in their wake would later break into pieces the future he had always envisioned for him and his love.

An abandoned child who would flee just as his mother.

A devastated father who would be turned into a heartless monster by the Gods in punishment for the lengths he was ready to go in order to get his son back.

A monster who, foregoing his misery, had hunted them down and crushed Killian's love's heart to dust.

The man she had been tied to - a worthless imp, the shadow of the man that Milah had married long before he met her for what he had learnt, - became Killian's own nightmare. When the face, spirit and kind eyes of the woman he had pledged his heart to should have been plaguing his heartbroken self after her demise, only the cruel sneer of the creature that took her away from him appeared instead. Where the salty breeze, the rush of adventure, the needle of a compass had been all he had needed to live his days, now the bloodlust, anger and hurt had taken over. His thirst for revenge had grown roots in his very core, unwaveringly making its way through his entire self, transforming the charming, roguish and bold sailor into a broody, revenge-driven and cold pirate with one sole purpose left to achieve before joining the lost souls in Hades.

Bring the monster to Hades along with him.

And yet, for all his devious schemes and journeys dedicated solely in following the creature's trail, Killian had encountered all kind of obstacles in his quest. The Gods of Olympus would most not certainly let the chance of playing with what they considered a tragic hero's quest for love pass them by without interfering. Alas, Killian had been beaten, tossed, messed with for far longer than he would have ever dared to imagine. Lady Athena would be one of the few willing to offer some kind of advice or protection during his very own odyssey, - along with Lord Ares, who saw the fire of battle reflected in the eyes of the heartbroken captain.

Killian often wondered if the Olympians enjoyed meddling with mortals' fates in order to make history, to ensure their names would not be forgotten with time. That had been not his purpose when he commenced his crusade: his goal was made of dust and pain, blood and sweat.

So he stared. Stared at the approaching storm, the wind picking up with such intensity the sails almost tore as they soared, foam flying in every direction while waves crashed like lovers meeting halfway in a clumsy, wet and longing kiss. Thunder roared, tremors hitting the very core of the Roger and lighting the only source of light that was left from the earlier open and luminous day, steadily becoming a nightmare, a place where tales were born to feed children's fears before they went to bed.

Killian smirked.

Captain Killian Jones may become immortal, after all, in those stories.

* * *

Killian was decidedly confused as to where he was, to say the least. His last fleeting memory was of his beloved ship being tossed back and forth, as if trapped inside some struggle between a group of giants or some other form of beasts clashing in between the waves, until a blaring and pained screeching sound halted him, a violent shake of the Roger sending him crashing down to the deck. Limbs slipped through the wet panels with no way of stopping until his head banged forcefully against the railing, turning his world as dark as he imagined his heart had been.

Or had turned into after Milah's death.

He was oddly wary of musing if it had been his own father sending that nefarious storm his way. He knew Poseidon didn't enjoy getting involved with his offspring's affairs, but knowing that he would have actively attempted to help take Killian's life was, even if he was not extremely adamant in admitting it, discouraging to say the least - and hurtful to openly acknowledge it.

His last thought, he vaguely recalled with a silent sob, had been a prayer for his beloved protector, Athena, to finally let him leave this world. If there would be no way to obtain his revenge against the monster that had taken Milah's life, if the Olympians were to maintain this cat and mouse game of theirs with their hero to get rid of that beast they had created in some of their sick, twisted schemes with mortals, then he would gladly join Hades by his willing foot.

These were the thoughts running through his head when he suddenly came to the realization that there was someone there with him, in the sand, the sound of the waves crashing by his slumped form lulling him to go back to Morpheus' nether world and leave… this odd island where he appeared to be stranded in.

It was the softest touch, a mere brush of warm skin gracing his forehead and carefully swiping away wet strands of hair from his forehead that made him aware of this presence by his side. Even if he wanted nothing more than to succumb to his fatigue and forget everything that he may had cared about in any way in his life, his very soul screamed at him to be on guard, to fight, to grip his sword and defy whoever may pose a threat to his persona. He was a survivor, through and through.

But, at the same time, some other part of him - a dormant voice that had stayed calm and quiet for years, that he only vaguely recognized as the side of Killian Jones that had been awakened when Milah was by his side, - silenced his battle-ridden self, shushing it and murmuring in Killian's ear how he was safe.

He desired nothing more than laugh at that, if he were honest with himself - he had been all but safe for years. Either way, he managed to turn his head to the side and open one bleary eye, the sole motion sending waves of pain through him as he fought hard against the throbbing and aching of his body to focus on the sight in front of him.

And he found himself speechless, a real paradox written in a porcelain face framed by sun-kissed curls, the slightest trail of freckles dusting her nose and cheekbones.

Such a beauty. Surely she must have been one of the Gods' own creations, sent down to their realm to torture mere mortals like himself.

Such a beauty.

But it was her eyes that made him pause.

The gentleness, softness and grace with which she appeared to be treating him clashed fiercely with the emotions swirling in them: a brew made of anger, despair, pain and resignation.

Killian had no clue as to what to make of it. What to make of them.

What to make of her.

He vaguely pondered if he had indeed left the mortal realm and they had allowed him join the Elysian Fields - rapidly discarding the idea. They would never grant him such an easy escape.

The wetness on his lips brought him back to the present, and he carefully swiped his tongue against his lips, savoring the sweet, fragrant taste. Nectar.

That must have been how she got him to wake up.

How had she known he would not burn at the mere touch of the food and drink of the Gods? How had she known there was Olympian blood running through his veins?

His confused expression must have alerted her, because she sighed and, with a reassuring nod, she finally spoke.

And her voice, unlike any siren or nymph he had ever encountered in his seafaring adventures, enchanted him, a charm carefully woven in each one of the words she uttered.

"Your eyes. All of you, children of Poseidon, own those blue scorching gazes, trapping whatever creature may dare to look into them as if by a spell."

Spell? She dared to accuse _him_ of using some spell?

The idea was absolutely preposterous in Killian's mind as he continued his unabashed examination of this marvel, this amazing creature that he had encountered by sheer luck. He did not know if he would have any ability to talk at all, but he found his lips already forming a question against his will, his voice all but throaty and raspy sounds coming together in a rather slow drawl. "Have I trapped you, too?"

She laughed quietly, a sweet, too short and yet too pained sound that made his heart throb almost painfully against his chest, and he oddly thought how bizarre it was that it hurt more than the injuries he must be suffering from the shipwreck he had miraculously survived. "I was vacuumed against them a long time ago, I'm afraid." She paused, feet tucked beneath her as she sat studying him, the vaporous silk of her pearly white chiton blowing gently against the winds and tossing with her hair almost lovingly, like they were playing with the golden strands. They might well have been for all he knew. "What's your name, sailor?"

He attempted to clear his throat in order not to sound so choked, so helpless facing this woman. This goddess. This… savior. His savior. "Captain Killian Jones, my lady."

She nodded curtly. Once again, she pierced him with her eyes, and he found himself unable to look away. He wondered silently if he would turn to stone, as legend spoke the Gorgons did with the sheer power of their cursed gazes, but this woman was most certainly not one of those foul creatures. If her eyes held indeed some kind of power, then he would gladly find himself prey of its danger. So much for a survivor - it seemed as if he had found his weakness.

And for the moment, Killian Jones couldn't care less.

She finally released him from the power of her stare, choosing to focus on the sparkly, vast waters that had brought his body to the shore where she had found him. "Welcome to Ogygia, Killian Jones. I'm Calypso. Let's see how long it takes you to stand on your feet again."

She rose to her feet in one fluid, graceful movement, and Killian could only stare up at her in wonder. A goddess indeed. So awed he was contemplating her that he almost missed her next words, barely muttered under her breath, and he could barely taste the scorn in her tone, leaving him cold and hollow, a chill running up his spine and bringing back memories long forgotten, words of fate and death and curses whispered cruelly by the Moirai in his ear. "And leave this Godsforsaken island."

* * *

_**Hiiiiii!**_

_**See, back in June, I had this crazy idea - not so crazy...? - while talking to a friend, comparing how Emma's story was so similar to Calypso's (cursed for someone else's mistake, - even if we can get into debate because actually Calypso *did* choose to support Atlas in the whole Titans/Olympians battle, - always left alone, everybody choosing to leave her behind...). Being the Greek Mythology whore that I am, I saw it way too fit for my two favorite characters to NOT write something about both of them. **_

_**So here it is.**_

_**I really hope you liked it - I am having too much fun with this. And they give me loads of feels. As always.**_

_**Love always, dearies!**_

_**PS: "What the Water Gave Me" by Florence and the Machine was kind of perfect for this tbh. And Enya's "Orinoco Flow", just because. Lalala. **_


	2. Cast Away: Monster

**_Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters or Once Upon A Time - the trolls Edward Kitsis and Adam Horowitz do. If I did, I'd make them canon faster than lighting._**

**_PS.: this is an AU work, therefore, as much as I love, cherish and venerate Greek mythology - details and some myths have been modified for this story's sake. Please bear with me._**

**_I was asked who was who in terms of the Gods, and I forgot to add it in the prologue - mostly because it was just Killian and Calypso interacting. But I guess a little guide to the characters that are mentioned or actually interact:_**

**_Killian Jones_**

**_Calypso - Emma Swan_**

**_Athena - Belle_**

**_Aphrodite - Ruby_**

**_Hera - Regina_**

**_Ares - Jefferson_**

**_As we further develop the story and if some of them are involved, I'll add them, don't you worry. Of course, forego the relationships between them and all, seeing as they are all completely fucked up and it would go completely against canon. Oh, well. Olympians. Horny bastards. _**

* * *

Time had always been a curious thing to Killian Jones.

He had not cared too much about how he spent his days when he was named captain of the Jolly Roger. Nor had he when he had met Milah. He had, however, found a new interest in the moons he had left when he set his goal in ending Rumpelstinskin's life: the monster was said to be impossible to kill, an immortal and destructive creature. To find a way to end him, Killian had made sure to employ each of his days entirely focused on his destiny, never letting fatigue, despair or mourning get the better of him.

Time, he had discovered, was even a curiouser thing in Ogygia.

If anyone - not that there were many souls around, mind you, - had asked him how long he had been on that enchanting island, he would not be entirely sure what to answer. Surely a couple of weeks? Or had it been days, but they had felt longer? What if he had spent months there and he had not been the wiser, due to the magic taking a hold of the whole paradise he had been stranded in?

Time notwithstanding, he was aware of the rest and healing he had been in dire need of after the shipwreck he had barely survived. He had floated in and out of dreams and reality, mending both worlds in a hazy fog full of stars. In some of them he had found himself in peace, meeting faces of old friends, of his loving mother, of his sweet Milah.

Others had not been so kind, reliving the most miserable moments of his life; the pain, the loneliness of years in search of revenge, the failure seeping into his very core when his goal seemed unreachable. The glee with which the monster's whole face had lit up after his love's heart was turned to dust.

He had a vague memory of a warm hand clasping his while he slept fitfully and bore these awful nightmares, soothing and soft words murmured against his temple, the brief brush of lips against his feverish skin.

Her.

_Calypso_.

Killian still had to make his mind up about the woman - _goddess_ - who had saved him. These brief moments in which she appeared to be truly concerned and bent on caring for his well-being contrasted with the cold, distant disposition she showed towards him when he had finally been awake and able to move on his own. He had even come to the pitiable conclusion that it may have all been an hallucination of his, her being concerned or worried at all for his health. One would not believe otherwise by seeing how she acted around him whenever he had approached her after he was somewhat recovered from his injuries. He had no idea of where this harsh demeanor of hers came from; though he admittedly had not known her prior to his arrival to her island, therefore he was not entirely sure of what her real disposition would be, or if it was just plain, unadulterated rudeness and coldness directed at him in particular.

Killian prided himself on being an engaging man. He knew the tricks, the ways to lure people around him to do what he wanted them to, the exact words to make them fall for his charms. The suave, seductive approach that made ladies faint; the self-confidence and spirit that men trusted without reserve.

None of them had seemed to work on the golden-haired maiden.

He had played every character in the book - even the honest one: he had attempted to show his gratefulness for her help. She had been the one who had saved him, healed him, kept him alive. He had told her as much, how he would discuss whatever she may desire from him for her aid. Killian had been aghast to see her not even bothering to hear him out, spinning on her heel and leaving for her beloved gardens, a bitter laugh in her wake and condescending words spat over her shoulder.

"You have nothing I desire, boy. Don't waste your breath."

As much as he would love to hate her for being so cruel, so dismissive of his insistence, he had not found any scrap of rage against the young goddess. Mainly due to the fact that he, on one of the long days in which the hours seemed to slip away from him too slowly, had found himself wandering around the exotic foliage, the gurgling waters springing from rocks and the wild animals roaming around, enjoying the exotic nature and peaceful mood of the island.

And there she was. Quietly singing to herself, not bothered by any presence near her, hands getting dirtied as she planted on a patch of earth she had previously cleared. Forehead sweaty, strands of hair sticking to the clammy skin of her neck and chest, a streak of dirt marring her cheek where she had most certainly swiped the sweat with her hands.

She had never looked more divine to him than then.

He saw how the birds stopped singing to come and fly by her side, joining her humming, adding their voices to her harmony. Wild deers approached her, one of them daring to lay its head on her lap. Everything around her loved her, cherished her, adored her. How could they not, how could one deny this enchanting creature?

Then why was she so adamant on posing as a cruel princess, a distant, hostile woman who saw it fit to treat him like a vexing nuisance she could not wait to get rid of? He could not recall having done anything remotely close to aggravating towards her, nothing that would drive her to act that way.

Was it him?

Was it her?

That night, he joined her to have dinner at one of her gardens. Everything was perfectly set and carefully arranged; linen tablecloth, vibrant colored flowers adorning the middle of the table where their meals were laid on. Wine and nectar cups were poured for both of them, and he absentmindedly pondered how come, if Calypso herself did not go out of the island - or so it appeared from what he had gathered from her curt answers to his curiosity-prompted questions, - and nobody seemed to come either, how come she had food and drink at all, if not from her own island?

Magic, maybe. She _was_ a goddess.

Killian was not completely sure if it was the wine or his own need to let this woman see that he had no intention of harming her, - or just plain let her discover a part of him he would not have shown just to anybody.

What he had been through, what he was after. What he had had, what he had lost.

His throat was sore after a while spent talking, words pouring from his lips as if the wine he had sipped earlier was an exchange for his honesty: the tales of the fearsome pirate captain, the adventures he had lived, the revenge he could not have. Tired as he may be, he could not help but notice that he had seemed to pique her interest. He thought he saw... something, there, in those stormy-sea eyes of hers, when he spoke of his love, of how she had been taken from him, too early for them, for him.

When he was done, though, that feeling he believed he had spied in her was gone, and the mask she had worn since he had gotten to Ogygia was back. She reclined farther on her leaf-made seat, the bright foliage making her eyes spark, and stared at him, gaze piercing him like a knife. Killian knew gods liked to impart some wisdom and advise to mortals whenever they thought them lost; however, he could not help but think that Calypso would not be just like any other deity he may have encountered before.

She, of course, did _not_ disappoint.

Sighing decadently, she gripped her goblet with her slim hands, clicking her nails against the metal. "Demigod you might be, but death will not-so-slowly crawl its way upon you, like a silent shadow, dragging you to Hades, with no choice left for you for a life to rejoice anymore." She sipped from her wine, not taking her eyes off his over the rim. "Mortality is a precious gift, every second an invaluable treasure - each one can be your last, Killian Jones. Don't be a fool throwing it all away."

He leaned over the table, leaving his own wine over the table, incensed by her words. "You speak of living my life and not wasting it by claiming my vengeance, but here you are, hidden in your poisoned, deceptive lair, away from prying eyes and not daring to fully live just as you told me to." He could not let the vehemence out of his voice, and he shook his head, irritated with himself. Why should he care of what she thought of his goal, of his bloodlust? Why would her opinion on the matter have any say in his actions? The way she had spoken about it - it had almost sounded like she pitied him, sneering over her shoulder, like some of the deities he had run into along the torturous path he had walked in search of a way to kill Milah's murderer.

The rage inside of him coiled until it almost burned. "Is it because I am mortal and you are not? Am I being treated to your, Gods', infamous pride?"

He realized his mistake as soon as he was done speaking. Calypso's face had fallen at first, until a whole new demeanor stole her features, hands shaking as she banged her drink against the table, the wine spilt spreading like blood over the bright white cloth. "If you had any idea at all about me or why _I _am here, you would not be so careless with your words, Captain. Mind your tongue," she uttered in between clenched teeth, eyes burning.

He contemplated her for several minutes - or what he thought were minutes in this blasted island, anyway. She was positively enraged, blood boiling, cheeks flushed and limbs trembling in her attempt to stay still. There was something, simmering underneath the surface - something raw and painful, something that had made her what she was now.

What it was - he had no clue whatsoever.

He just knew he had crossed a line, and he had no intention of ever doing it so again, not if it would drive her away from him.

He slouched on his own seat, appraising her with his eyes unabashedly, to her utmost shock - the sudden change in his behavior throwing her off. "My tongue is _decidedly_ willing to do so much more when your Grace _graces_ me with her presence - it is a curse, truly, what you can do to a man," he admitted, raking his eyes over her form, the corner of his lips curling into a teasing smirk.

To his surprise, she shook her head, golden tresses flying abound, and openly laughed, the sound clear as a bell, echoing against the forrest's whispered noises surrounding them. "And _that_ is the kind of charm that will lure some young lady into your arms, finding with her that new beginning you so crave after that hollowness was carved in your heart." She rose to her feet, and he followed her, until he was standing inches from her. Calypso laid a hand on his shoulder, and for a moment he feared that she would be able to hear the rapid flutter of his heart when her skin made contact with his. "Go home, find a new love, start a family. Don't waste your days for the pain you have nursed long enough. It is time to heal, Killian Jones."

Killian made no move at all, frozen under her touch and the meaning behind her words. She wanted him to move forward, to forget what he had been driven to do, to seek - to see finished. She wanted him to leave it all behind. She thought he deserved to live, to find a second chance. At love. At life.

He had not believed he was worthy of any of it after stealing Milah away from her family, that for his own selfishness, for wanting to have his love with him, he had had it coming: the pain, the loss. That was what the Olympians had repeated over and over in his ear when he sailed in search of Rumpelstiltskin's demise: how he had played with the Fates, how he had changed the course of destiny, and he had to pay for what he had done. How his sole purpose left was to end the creature's life.

He had already begun to believe himself the worst human around.

Calypso did not seem to think him so, and it shook him to the core.

Taking her hand in his from his shoulder, he intertwined their fingers together, not daring to meet her eyes. "I am not sure there is hope left for me anymore, my lady."

He felt his chin being lifted. Green, kind eyes - something he had yet to see since he had laid eyes on her, - looked back, with a soft smile curling those godly lips of hers. "There is always hope."

Killian shuddered. The possibility of a new chance for him was flooring enough. He looked at her under his lashes, curiosity plain in his stare. "Even for your Grace?"

Calypso appeared taken aback by his question. He was positive she was not used to having company in Ogygia - if any at all, - but he was more concerned by the fact that it seemed like, if she _had_ had, not many of them seemed to be interested in her. Nor her dreams. Her hopes.

Just as he imagined, she soon morphed her surprise into a playful smile. She cocked an eyebrow at him, never letting her eyes off his as she did. "Who said I was hopeless?" Slipping her hand from his, she turned to the table they had sat at earlier, taking in her hands a tiny vial and pouring its contents in her goblet under his curious inspection. She whirled back to face him, offering it to him with a small nudge. "Drink. You will feel better in the morning."

He took it from her, purposefully caressing her fingers with his, and drank, savoring the wooden, spicy taste of the drink and observing the tiny shudder she tried to mask off after he touched her.

That night, his dreams were free of nightmares. No memories plagued them, no mad giggling haunted him. No heart got crushed to dust under his powerless stare. No nights spent alone wishing he was reunited with his love even if it was in the Underworld.

The morning after, Calypso, in a polite move that he had not expected from her, nearly coming to the conclusion that the conversation they shared the previous night had been all but a dream, asked him if he had slept smoothly. For all answer, he took her hand in his and kissed her knuckles, softly, a mere brush of lips over skin. At her prominent and sudden blush, he laughed quietly, letting her hand free of his hold, and smirked wider at her calling out on his charming ways before leaving to her adored gardens, not without asking, if not meekly, if he would want to accompany her.

He followed her - keeping to himself how most of his dreams had included her.

* * *

Calypso sighed.

Walking alongside the shore of the lake in her island, she picked one of the small flowers that followed her path, weaving its stem around a lock of her hair absentmindedly. Going from plant to plant, she took one from each as she made her way through the greenery that enveloped her, still immersed in thought, battling with herself. The delicate and most lovely flower crown that she had woven after a while distractedly was not enough to qualm the raging thoughts screaming at her.

She had dreamt of him again.

Just as she had been doing since he had arrived to her island.

It was not the fact that she had dreamt of him per se what bothered the young goddess, - it was what it usually implied. Calypso had had her fair share of dreams involving lovers, other men that had shared the warmth of her bed, men who had long left. It was when the dreams started that her heart started growing softer towards them, - to a level where she found herself unable _not_ to feel herself come undone in their presence.

The dreams were the beginning of her end: they sentenced the imminent heartbreak of Ogygia's queen.

Staring defiantly at the water, she picked up a small rock and threw it furiously against the calm surface, resulting in a couple of birds who had been peacefully swimming squeaking away, startled at their sudden interruption by the incensed goddess. So miffed she was, she was not even willing to go calm her poor, beloved pets.

The man in her dream returned to her thoughts. Oh, that Killian Jones. She had seen through him since the moment he had opened his eyes, after she had made him drink some nectar in order to revive him. She had not been lying when she told him she had known without a doubt who he was related to - she had met other Poseidon's offspring, many moons ago, way before she had been sent to Ogygia. They were all the same - impulsive, passionate, raw, full of life. Unpredictable, just like the sea their father ruled over.

_Dangerous_.

She froze when she brought a hand to her lips, tracing them leisurely with a smooth finger, when she came to the realization that she had been smiling. _Smiling_ at the thought of the sailor. She could not deny her relationship with the demigod had changed since he had first come to her island. She had tried to push him away, as she always did after she had realized the curse placed upon her prevented her from having any real bond with anybody - not a romantic one, at least. What they felt for her, those heroes that were sent sometimes to Ogygia - that was not love. Maybe lust, maybe a fleeting divertissement, but she knew better: the Olympians had made sure she would not feel that same crushing, haunting, drowning feeling from anybody who came across her.

That did not mean she did not feel.

The curse itself was painfully aware of what she craved and what she should never have. And due to that, every time they fell, floated or sailed to Ogygia's shores, Calypso braced herself for another failure, another layer added to her heart, a new story of heartbreak to write in the tales they would some day sing about her: the golden maiden, condemned to fall for the heroes sent to her island who would never love her back and left, left her, left her home, to never come back.

Ironic as it was, Calypso had tried as she might to fight her feelings. She had been cold, undeniably rude, harsh, anything she could to make him wary of her, to wish him to stay away from her. Meanwhile, her soul screamed at him to fight for her, to not let her mask fool him, to love her. And she despised herself for it, the battle between her mind telling her it was just a part of the curse and her heart insisting on her falling for the pirate captain never ending. She told herself over and over again how she had been there before, how she knew how this would all end.

And Killian Jones was not different from others, she insistently reiterated to herself.

And yet, she knew she was lying.

She shivered at the idea of kissing him. Of tangling her fingers in those jet black curls of hair. Of letting him hold her against his lean body. Of him...

Of _him_. She shivered at the simple thought of _him_.

With a sigh, she placed the flower crown atop her head, her feet carrying her to the beach where her abode was.

Calypso, on one of the moons they had spent together while he helped her with her gardening, had brought up the issue of his impending departure from her home. She knew he had some destiny to fulfill, even if she did not believe revenge would bring him out of his misery over his lost love. But she knew enough of Olympic's politics and how her siblings had arranged it all to make his mission an entertainment for them and a way to get rid of the monster they had created, alas she was certain the sailor would not be able to get out of it.

Gods used heroes as pawns to fix the messes they left in the human realm, after all.

And Killian Jones, as she had said, was no different.

He had not responded immediately when she asked him about his departure, and his poor disposition at answering had unsettled her. Especially because it had ignited in her several feelings at once.

Hope that he might be developing some kind of bond with her.

Dread that, if he did, she would not be able to help herself and fall for him, no qualms left, no reservations.

Yet, the most crushing feeling overpowering them all was plain, cruel and raw panic.

Panic of seeing him go.

The sky lit up in bright reds and purples and Calypso kept her pace, outlining the shore on her way back. The wind came in from the sea and whipped her robe about her, the silky cloth teasing her bare legs, and she smiled despite herself at the simplicity of it all, of how such a small thing managed to make her giddy after all.

Some days it was hard to leave her bed. Others, she felt the need to enjoy the little pleasures that her punishment had left for her.

"You have outdone yourself, I must say. Ogygia is as enchanting as I remember it to be."

Calypso's smile quickly turned to horror when she saw the figure that had shown up beside her entirely unannounced. Feet inside the salty water, just as when she had been born out of a pearly shell in that very same sea that now kept Calypso captive, Aphrodite walked up to her, a soft smile forming on her lips - lips that mortals only dreamed to kiss, to touch, plump and pink, as enchanting as lethal.

Pulling herself straighter and arranging her chiton, Calypso stared back at the Goddess of Love, giving her a curt nod. "Yet I have not received any visits in eons." Calypso turned her mouth up in a half-hearted half smile. "Aphrodite - to what do I owe the pleasure?"

Aphrodite inclined her head back in acknowledgement, a slight tint to her cheeks at her small admonishment - which only caused Calypso to roll her eyes. As if the Goddess of Love would feel guilty at all for not paying a visit to the imprisoned Calypso. Shaking her head to remove some lazy tendrils of dark hair out of her face, she fixed her with an intent look. "My visit was not planned, I can assure you."

Calypso steeled herself. Gods visiting her were never good news - especially not from Aphrodite. She had always been known for her taste for mischief, along with young Eros, playing with hearts as if they were not breakable.

Calypso had been played enough for too long to let hers be fooled once more.

"Yet here you are."

Aprhodite shrugged noncommittally, the perfect picture of ease dressed in blue sparkling silks. "Love calls love."

She froze. Frozen, as one of the sculptures adorning the many gardens she kept in her island, their features cold, their limbs unmoving, their eyes sad and fixed.

_No. It couldn't be._

_Not again._

Calypso pursed her lips, struggling to hide her distress from Aphrodite. "You know nothing."

At that, the dark haired goddess only rose an eyebrow questioningly. Calypso did not want to fret over what she may be thinking at all - if the golden goddess' sudden anger was directed at her or at her own feelings raging inside, reveling in the truth behind the other woman's words. "Don't I? Goddess of Love?"

"Then you must be mistaken," she answered dismissively. In an attempt to appear unaffected by these sudden revelations, she plucked one of the flowers from her crown and wove it about her wrist, ignoring the knowing look her older sibling must have beengiving her. Intent on keeping ignoring her, Calypso looked down at her bare pale legs, the fabric hugging and tickling them that had previously made her smile in contentment now only making her grimace, remembering how the captain had fixed his gaze on her skin while they planted together, surrounded by her pets and her plants, the sound of the waterfalls as the music playing whilst they labored.

Were those lingering looks, secretive touches, sharp inhales of breaths what had summoned Aphrodite's presence?

Finally letting herself meet the other goddess' eyes, she noticed how they had darkened with intensity and heat, and Calypso suddenly felt very small again, just as she had been when Aphrodite had taken care of her when she had been a naive and young girl. "Calypso, you know as well as I do that the mortal stranded here with you is slowly getting past that emotional armor of yours, such as the one Athena wears to stay away from feelings trouble and meddling affairs."

She put her arms around her middle, as if by that gesture alone she could fend herself against the pain the words she was listening were inflicting on her. "I do not care for his feelings, I know mine. I am not willing to suffer again. I swore on it the last time," she replied firmly, refusing to break eye contact.

To Calypso's surprise, Aphrodite's gaze softened, and her voice lowered to something akin a whisper, merely caressing her skin, comforting, reassuring. "Ah, yes... Graham. You thought he was the one, did you not?"

And the caress that may have been her voice turned into a whip lashing at her skin, bruising it in her wake just as her heart had been after Graham.

Graham.

One of the heroes that had been sent to Calypso. A broken soul, just as broken as she had been. Beaten, alone, hurt. He had found comfort in her just as she thought she had found the half missing piece of her - that it may had been in him. That the two of them could heal each other, complete the other, find the peace they so craved together. She had felt him come alive after he opened himself to her, struggling as much as her at the concept of trust. He had been as wary of letting himself be vulnerable, be raw, letting himself to open to anybody as she had been after she had been betrayed and therefore punished and banished to Ogygia. Yet, with Graham by her side, a lifetime together with him on her island - _their_ island, - had not seemed like a tragedy at all. Even if her heart longed for freedom and peace, just the knowledge that she would not be alone, that she would be cherished and cared for was enough for her.

Olympians, of course, had to interfere.

The messenger of the Gods, sent by Hera, had been sent to bribe her lover to leave her island, guaranteeing him everything he had ever desired: a reunion with his family, the protection of the pack that had raised him when he was a child, a kingdom, a beautiful maiden to marry, the promise of a long, healthy life for him and his offspring. Calypso's heart had clenched with such gratefulness and brass love she thought her immortality was long gone when he had denied their proposal, choosing _her_ instead.

Queen Hera, known for her grudges and jealousy, had not been pleased with this refusal of one hero she had somewhat adopted as one of her 'pets', always doing her bidding - and, at his obvious desire to stay beside Calypso's, she had decided he was far better gone than living beside her.

He had died at that very shore, in her arms.

It had been the last hero they had sent to Ogygia. She had believed he would be the last, as a reminder or a warning of what would happen if she let herself hope for redemption, or the chance of finding something akin to happiness.

Until Killian Jones had come.

She looked skyward and blinked back tears, determined not to have them fall in front of her guest. "He may had been. I will never know. They took him away from me out of pure, unadulterated jealousy."

"Or your curse. You know how it works, Calypso," Aphrodite reminded her morosely.

She buried her feet in the wet sand, small shells coming and going with the waves lapping at them as if in some hypnotic dance brought by the Muses. "What is it you have come to do here, Aphrodite?"

The Goddess stared at her firmly. "Warn you, my dear child. Love will strike Ogygia once more, I am afraid... but this time, it will not be like the others." She then inclined her head in a slight bow, stepping closer until they were face to face. She tilted her face upwards with a nudge of her palm under her chin. "Not everything must be bitterness and pain in your existence."

Calypso glared up at her, tears staining her cheeks, clenching her jaw stubbornly. She dared the Goddess to repeat that again, after all she had been put through, kindhearted of soul towards her fate or not. She _dared_ her.

"Easy for you to say, able to fly away at your every wish." She narrowed her eyes at her and looked down at her feet once more, petting her robes. With a last bow of her head, she stepped away, calling over her shoulder, "Until we meet again, Aphrodite."

The ache of loneliness grew stronger as she turned away from the place where she had spoken to the goddess of love, now gone, each step growing harder to take, as if her feet were made of lead.

She had thought he would be the last one, that they would not be so cruel as to put her through all the pain, the loss, the heartbreak once again. Had she not suffered enough? Had she not realized the mistake she had made those long eons ago? Should she pay for it for the rest of her immortal life? Calypso was not positive she would be able to bear it anymore.

Not only that, Aphrodite had forewarned her about how this hero, this sailor should not be taken lightly. That his presence in Ogygia might change things.

Killian Jones, as she had feared, _was_ different.

She collapsed, sobs raking her form.

And, as she feared, _he_ found her.

Killian stumbled in to find her on her knees amidst the foam staining the shore, the flowers she had previously woven into her hair now littering her shaking form as she openly cried her grief, not caring at all for her wet chiton or the scratches her nails had left on her legs and palms. Calypso turned around to look at him, his worried eyes, his shaking hands as he pried wet strands of hair from her face, and for one brief moment she let herself lean into him, the promise of comfort and sweet oblivion in his arms too overwhelming not to give in. She could hear his panicked voice, and cerulean blue eyes appeared at the corner of her vision. A warm hand encased its fingers in the nape of her neck, bringing her closer to his chest, and she could feel the erratic beating of his heart against her temple, the sound momentarily reassuring her. He was there. He was alive. _They have not taken him from me. Yet._ "My lady? My lady, what is the matter?" At her inability - nor desire at all, - of answering him or giving any indication that she was aware of his presence, she noticed the change in his tone as he gently cupped her cheeks, making her face him. "Calypso?"

He eclipsed her view, drawing closer as she felt his hand gently frame her face.

Until Aphrodite's words rushed through her, fast and unforgiving.

Her eyes were stained with tears, and her voice became a whisper as she looked around, wide eyed and pale. "Go away."

His mouth parted in surprise and shock, and a flash of hurt passed over his eyes. "I..."

Calypso grew angry, her eyes blazing, her voice low. Why did he have to find her? To witness her breaking down, the lowering of her walls?

She pushed her hands against his chest, and he pulled away to leave her room to move. She rose to wavering feet, and in a whirl of wet fabric turned to him, brushing her tears away as the waves behind her started crashing furiously, - if following his or her temper, she was not sure, - the sound louder and echoing in their ears, almost drowning out her voice. "You heard me. Go away. Leave!"

The sadness and fear in his pale eyes cut through her like a knife, but soon enough they were clouded with confusion and resentment. She was more than expecting him to lash out at her, wrath and fury pouring out of him in waves - but it never came. He stepped away from her, and with one last lingering, hurt look, he left.

Calypso clenched her jaw silently and looked down, hiding her anger from Killian as he stalked away. She watched him leave; and once again there was a turbulent battle in the pit of her stomach, raging for control.

Confusion, as to why he seemed to care so much what had happened to her.

Anger at her own weakness and for letting him witness it.

And the one which earned the laurel crown, overpowering the rest: the panic she had feared of feeling, now holding her in its grasp, at seeing him go.

* * *

As much as he tried, he could not stop himself from staring at her.

Killian had not attempted to approach the dainty goddess after the scene he had been witness of, when he had stumbled upon her in the beach, openly weeping. He had been terrified for her, his blood turning to ice after hearing her cries and he had run to reach her side intending to make sure she was in no danger whatsoever. After she had snarled at him to get away from her and he had stalked back to the cave where he was being hosted, he had come to the realization of how senseless his frantic actions had been upon hearing her panicked sobs: she was a _goddess_.

She could not _die_. Moreover, there was no danger or threat in that island that would put her at any risk.

Yet the memories of Milah's crying at the dead of night over the child that she had left behind after parting with him were too fresh in his mind, and his very core had pulled him to seek out the weeping woman and comfort her in any way, if not to see that she was safe.

Maybe the memories of her death had not helped with his anxiety either, Milah's last pained gasp and murmured love confession ringing in his ears.

Killian and Calypso had crossed paths after that day, brief exchanges full of questioning glances from his part and curt nods from her. If he had considered her closed off and reserved before, now he was about to give up on trying to figure out this impossible woman, this enigmatic creature that bit and barked at him like a wounded animal whenever he so much as attempted to approach or console her in any way. But if he prided himself in anything, apart from surviving, it was in being a _remarkably_ insistent bastard.

Killian Jones simply did _not_ give up.

So that was one of the reasons why he delayed his departure from Ogygia. Not only that: the words she had spoken to him concerning his second chance at a life even after the loss he had experienced and the emptiness that would surely take over him when he fulfilled his revenge still plagued him at night, making him toss and turn in the linen sheets of the cot he had been offered at her abode.

After being on the other end of such an acid and scathing reaction from her when he had only offered her some kind of comfort in her unease, Killian was not so confident in what to make of her or her words anymore.

What was she _doing_ to him?

Few moons later - in the very vague calendar he had a hold of since he had arrived to Ogygia, - he was most surprised upon finding himself with a visitor.

His protector.

_Athena_.

Her clever, bright eyes, - always so perceptive and luminous, - followed his steps until he came to stand before her. He should admit he had always been somewhat cautious, even slightly embarrassed whenever he was faced with that penetrating gaze - she was not the Goddess of Wisdom for nothing. As soon as she looked at him, lady Athena appeared to learn everything he had been up to since the last time they had parted ways.

This time, however, she just inquired about his plans for the future, to which he had not been too certain what to answer with. Infuriating and deceptive creature or not, Calypso's words still lingered in the backseat of his conscience, masking the smell of bloodlust and wrath that had invaded and rotten his being for far longer than he could recollect.

He had told her as much; how someone had made him question what he was about to lose, the part of himself he would leave behind along with the life of the imp who had ripped so much from him without a care.

A monster for a monster. That would be all that would be left if he killed the creature.

Cocking her head to the side, his beloved friend had inspected him curiously for a long while, never stopping her perusal of his face as she did, looking for Gods knew what in them. With a final nod, she finally conceded, "Wise words, that of the young lady. I wonder why would it be her that you would finally choose to listen to instead of the dozen of times we have warned you before?"

He had not known how to respond. It was true that Athena had insisted time after time onthe futility of his plan, of his very probable death at hands of Rumpelstinskin, of how Milah would not want that to be his life after her demise.

He had never listened. He had preferred to go to Lord Ares, who had gladly encouraged his thirst of revenge and chosen to promptly ignore Athena's rational pleas to leave the past behind and quit spilling blood in the name of love or rage.

And yet, a single conversation with the lonely goddess who had saved him and something had shifted inside of him. A candle lighting, as if Hestia's hearth had been warming his insides, promising a future, a possibility, a futile chance for his dark soul.

Why her words and not the ones from his most treasured confidant?

Why _her_?

Athena did not wait for him to respond, shaking her head and locking her eyes with him, a warning clear in them. "Be as it may, as much as I would love for you to get away from your revenge-driven self, it is true that my siblings will want to make sure you achieve it somehow. Be on your guard, my friend." With a last soft pat on his shoulder, she left, disappearing just as Gods did, not leaving any trail of their presence in their wake for them mortals to see. Killian had been subjected to these encounters many a times, therefore he was not so unsettled - it was her words which had made him pause.

The Gods would surely scheme anything in their twisted minds to make sure Killian fulfilled his revenge - so he achieved what _they _wished him to do.

He knew no mortal, no demigod had the power or will to defy them, knowing the outcome would be definitely unpleasant for whomever dared to.

And yet, as he kept staring at Calypso's perfect silhouette outlined against the twilight, the gold in her hair impossible to discern from the falling sun - just like she were born from it, some sort of sunlight and peace's spirit, - no fear or trepidation halted him at the possibility.

* * *

Days. Nights. Sunrises. Twilights. They came and went, and time kept slipping from Killian's fingers like water leaking through them.

He could have been fooled into thinking that time was playing him again, as he sat in front of the woman who had proved to be more a challenge than he would have ever thought possible.

Shockingly enough, the goddess seemed to prefer to dispose of her crossed disposition against him for the evening, and openly talked and engaged him - as much as her usual stony silence and demeanor let her, that was. Killian had been amused enough at first at this sudden change in her until he came to realize that the goblet she was drinking from kept emptying at an alarming speed.

_Ah_.

"My lady, I believe you should not be so generous with the spirits."

He watched her eyes widen and her lips part in mock outrage at what he had just implied, and her face and neck flushed a deep red as she looked away. Killian grinned at her, and tipped his own goblet up, taking a long sip from it to find her looking at him right in the eye, the corner of her lips curling into a mocking smile. "I thought pirates were known for their fondness for the spirits?"

Killian chuckled, amused at this brazen side of the young goddess. He decidedly had not been expecting that from this soirée, that was for sure. "That we are. Be as it may, believe me when I say gentlemen as myself are not so fond of watching over young inebriated ladies."

She leaned closer to him, and she cocked her head to the side, studying him carefully. Not taking his eyes off her, he almost did not notice her hand reaching out to caress the design of an old scar that marred the skin of his arm. "You insist in calling me young when I am far older than you. You are a curious soul, Killian Jones."

Killian glanced down to where she was tracing her finger and wrinkled his forehead in thought, almost forgetting where he got it. A battle scar from one of his many adventures, no doubt. "I have been called many a things in my life - this may be the first time I am labelled as 'curious', though."

"I am honored to have added such an accomplishment to your list." Her eyes lit up and a smile teased the corners of her mouth. His heart beat faster at the fleeting realization that this may be the night he had seen her smile most times since he had arrived to Ogygia. Spirits influence or not, Killian would not deny it was a fair more welcoming sight than the previous encounters he had had with Calypso.

With a prayer to any God above listening not to upset her in the short future, he maintained their high-spirited exchange. "I trust you have been called your share fair of names through all those long years you claim to have lived?"

His lips curled into a half smile as he expected her answer. To his surprise, her face turned suddenly serious, but she tried to mask the abrupt change in her facade by smirking back at him, taking a sip from her drink. "If I have, I would not know, captain. Have you not noticed? I am stranded on an island all by myself."

He tilted his head forward, a frown marring his forehead. Could she...? "But surely you can leave?"

"Not while I am still under a curse." The words were matter-of-factly, open, vulnerable.

Inevitable.

She had been cursed? That was the reason why there were no other inhabitants in the island, why she was so achingly familiar with the idea of being by herself?

That was one sad, lonely fate. His heart went to the golden haired woman sitting by him. Killian quivered at the idea of not being able to part from that island, not now, not ever. As charming and enchanting as the place was, he _longed_ for his freedom: the sea called out to him, the uncertainty of what a new day would bring igniting his very soul.

Such a curse - Killian would most certainly plead for Hades to claim him before facing it, all by himself. He felt a newfound respect for Ogygia's only Queen.

"Someone must have tried to free you. Your family, your friends..." he said quietly with a nod.

He felt his chin being tilted up, and he saw her leaning to his side once again, her hand caressing lightly the skin of his face before dropping, her eyes never leaving his. "My _family_ did this to me. It is better not to trust anyone but myself - it leads to no treason, no heartbreak."

His eyes and mouth flew open unconsciously, and he shuddered as the idea that she was implying played out in his head in all its glorious detail. The Olympians curses were infamous enough, probably in an attempt to serve as a warning to any other soul not to cross them if you cared at all for your fate on Earth.

"Why curse you I wonder?"

There was a pause, in which Calypso slouched further into her seat, the leaves and vines woven to form it almost swallowing her petite form. She stared somewhere, far away from there, somewhere she could not reach - somewhere she might long to go. If Killian found himself puzzled at seeing the woman in front of him as anything but a goddess, it was the heaviness, the suffering in her voice - as if one could almost taste the time she had lived in her words that told him who he was dealing with. She was no ordinary lass.

"I fell for someone and made the wrong choice. I loved, I trusted, I got burned. Burned down just like Troy - and while its walls crumbled down to dust, mine grew taller." Letting down a small sigh, she turned to him once more. "The Olympians sent me here, then, as a punishment for what I did. Never to leave. To always be alone," she scoffed. She masked her pain well, and must have masked it for centuries, but Killian could hear the hurt in her voice. "With exceptions," she added, looking at him under her lashes.

"Love has been all too rare in your life, hasn't it?" he said softly. Taking her hand in his, his eyes widened in surprise at finding a rather similar scar to his on her flesh. He furrowed his brows, bewildered: gods' flesh could not be maimed in any way - unless they had been wounded when their skin was young and fragile.

Had they tortured her, too? They might have while they questioned her. Several of Hephaestus' designs for devices made in his forge came to mind, and he could not help but cringe at the thought of Calypso being submitted to such pain and fear. She stayed still, vulnerable, as he examined it, his finger tracing the whitened mark leisurely, and he noticed how her shoulders tensed at his words.

"Despite my amicable relation with Aphrodite, I must say her gifts have never been my fort. Not that I am complaining. I am better off alone."

She sat stiffly and he felt her body draw back from his. Just as she was about to turn, his arm dragged hers so she was facing him, and his lips descended to press a kiss to the scarred flesh. Killian heard Calypso's breath catch in her throat, and she stayed perfectly still while he slowly planted a trail of kisses down the length of her arm to her hand. When he got to her knuckles, he lifted his head to stare back at her. "You don't mean that. You are afraid - you are terrified of letting yourself feel."

"Feel what, exactly, demigod?" she turned back to him, her eyes flaring in anger.

The words Killian wanted to say to her burned in the back of his throat. In that moment, he wanted so badly to give in completely; to surrender to her, to tell her the feelings he had been harboring inside of him and denying.

He _was_ falling for her.

Instead, he inched closer to her, his stare focused and straight on hers, a hand coming up to trace the contour of her face and falling to take back her hand in his, not daring to go further than that after the rather charged moment he had already claimed earlier. "Care. Trust. Bare yourself, feel. _Love_."

He saw how Calypso inhaled through her nose and exhaled slowly, following as he breathed with her. He could only feel his hand gripping hers and the ground beneath his feet.

And, strangely enough, it was all that he needed.

He had never wondered before how gods were supposed to feel. Would their skin burn if he touched them? Would they be freezing cold, just as they were in time? It had not been until he was under Calypso's care when he had arrived to her island, battered and bruised, the Moirai's wings echoing in his ears that he had experienced how human they appeared to be. How human she looked, her skin as warm as his, goosebumps on her arms and tremors attacking her flesh when he brushed against her. She stared, fascinated, at their entangled fingers, until she lifted her gaze to pin him with a somewhat mocking glare. "I am an immortal, an eternal goddess. Nothing can either harm, nor touch me. I have _nothing_ to fear."

"Everybody is victim of feelings, my lady - even immortals as yourself. You have a heart, have you not?," he whispered to himself, half trembling.

And then, just as a broken arrow, Killian could feel her faltering. "Fragile as glass, empty as a void, its beat barely heard amongst the screaming inside my soul." She opened her eyes and shuddered out a long breath, staring into the fire warming the chamber they were in, her free arm outstretched toward its center. He felt her brokenness, her desolation, her yearn to run, to live. He could almost taste the earth's energy and the pull of the fire, by her side, taking a hold of her hand.

Still gazing at the dancing flames, she breathed, "Do not waste your words on me, my hero. I have foreseen my fate, and no love, no feelings will be neither my salvation, nor my doom."

Words of protest poured down his lips against his will. "You are no seer, you have no way of knowing that."

He saw her body shudder, and in a graceful movement, just as everything she did, she let her head fall against the side of her leaf-made klismos. Her voice had lost that edge it had possessed earlier, now sluggish and clogged with sleep and exhaustion, the spirits taking its effect on her.

"You, Poseidon offspring, so relentless, so daring - so eager and brave. Just like the tide, the waves, the abyss where you cannot even dare to reach with your sight." Green locked onto blue. "Your father used to frighten me as a child- his temper, his power, the vastness of the ocean pleasing his every wish. But you? You _terrify_ me. With you I am drowning, and yet I do not have a care at..." She didn't finish, her voice cracking. Killian hushed her and rose to his feet, coming to her side and holding her against him as she shook. He kissed her forehead, and smoothed his arms down her back.

The sky above was cold and dark, a storm brewing, and Killian wondered if the island itself could feel her queen's distress and matched it according to her mood. One way or the other, Calypso's breath had slowed down, and he dropped his gaze to find blond strands of hair hiding closed eyes, those thick lashes of hers projecting shadows over her cheekbones. He lazily pulled them away from her face, careful not to wake her, and with careful movements took her in his arms, her head dropping to his collarbone and tickling the exposed skin of his neck with her hair. He carried her to the wing of her lair, where he believed her chambers where, to which he had never been to before. Opening the wooden door with his foot, he squinted his eyes until they somewhat got used to the dim light of some candles scattered around the space. Promptly spying the sheets and the bed where she surely laid every night, he approached it to lay the form of the sleeping goddess over it, and with utmost care, tucked her in, afraid that she might get cold.

Goddess or not, she _felt_. She felt much more than any other mortal, spirit, hero or nymph he had ever met in his pitiful life.

Pressing a soft kiss against the smooth skin of her forehead, he got to his feet and walked out to find his own rest in his chambers, afraid of what his treacherous mind would trick him to do if he stayed a sleepless night by her side.

Unbeknownst to them, Aphrodite looked down at the two broken souls that sought sleep and rest, worry gripping her heart at their shared pain and what may be written in the stars about their fates. Nevertheless, a small grin graced her lips.

Both of them smiled in their dreams.

_For now._

* * *

_**...Hope you are all enjoying the ride! I definitely am :)**_

_**Thanks to Cee, my beautiful beta, and Col, my screeching beloved friend, who have yelled continuously at me to write this / have yelled continuously at me after writing it. **_

_**PS: Birdy - "Wings" (I hate you Cee), Jem - "Maybe I'm Amazed" and Dios Malos, "You Got Me All Wrong". Basically.**_


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